My phone isn’t working. Each year, it seems, we need to buy a new house phone. For some reason, we can’t seem to find one worth anything even though we don’t buy cheapos. Maybe that’s the ticket, buy a cheapo phone and it’ll live forever. One of my friends is having the same problem too (yes, same model phone).

For right now though, the quiet in the house is nice. People can call me, I just won’t hear it ring and I can’t dial out.

It’s almost creepy being alone in the house on a Monday with no noise. I like it. I’ll likely get a whole lot of work done (which is what I’m supposed to do at home on a Monday!).

It occurred to me that God might have taken the phone calls away for a reason. Hmmm…maybe I need a little quiet time with him instead.

I have a few thoughts on this week’s sordid news flash regarding Spitzer’s adulterous relationship with expensive prostitutes. I don’t usually pay much attention to this stuff but this one really gets me. On the Today Show this week, the ex-wife of ex-governor Jim McGreevy (NJ) appeared to talk about how wives feel when their governor husbands do something stupid like have an affair. NBC ran parallel news clips showing McGreevy’s apology speech and Spitzer’s apology speech. Both men are wearing the same red/white striped tie!!! It must be the “I’m sorry I got caught with my pants down” tie. Both wives are wearing blue suits. What’s up with that?!

Men, if you are going to do something so amazingly stupid and selfish as hire a high priced escort, here are some rules to follow:

Don’t meet her on Valentine’s eve.
Don’t buy her online.
Don’t (for Pete’s sake) use Western Union wire transfers to pay for this crap.

If you have a few extra thousand dollars left to spend on something, your wife could probably really use a spa weekend or a new tiara!

My husband is extremely clear on what would happen if he was in Spitzer’s shoes. Or rather, what would NOT happen. He apparently told a co-worker yesterday that no way would I stand next to him on a public platform to listen to him apologize to the world for humiliating me unless I had a gun to his back the whole time. He’s absolutely right!

I do not ever expect to deal with a cheating husband. But, if I do, I will be on the first flight to a tropical beach. I will not stand around to be humiliated in public nor will I crawl in a corner and cry.

I will leave. Lay on a beach for several weeks drinking umbrella drinks and watching the waves (and the cabana boys). I will let my stupid cheating husband behind with the kids and all the chores. If I’m ever gone for awhile and come back with a killer tan and a tattoo, you’ll know what happened.

I wrote this little blurb for myself about two years ago. (My aforementioned soon to be teenage son was then ten years old). Sorry, it’s outdated, but still true.

As I tucked my ten-year-old son in to bed last night, he did a weird thing. With closed eyes and sleepy limbs he seemed to wave his hands over his stomach and chest before he pulled the covers up. There was something very deliberate about it though and it took me a minute to figure out what he was doing. I stood and stared for a minute before I asked him,

“Do you do that every night?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I always do that. It helps me feel safe.”

It seems that my most profound moments with this child are when he is half asleep. This is the same boy who sat and talked to God at the foot of his bed when he was yet in diapers. And last night, he did something so simple yet so subconsciously that I wondered how often and how long he had been doing it. It is apparently part of his bedtime ritual, performed with the fog of sleep closing in, yet so meaningful to him.

He was crossing himself. Making the sign of the cross over his body to protect him from harm and notify the world that he is the child of God.

When will I be so entrenched in my relationship with Jesus, that even in my sleep I invite him to be with me? When will it be second nature to me to call out to him, rather than a last resort when all my attempts otherwise fail?

It occurred to me tonight that I will be the parent of a teenager in approximately one and a half years. Liam and I were watching some wierd health show on Discovery and it was just the two of us. He oughta be a pediatrician or a teacher or a OB/GYN or something that involves hanging out with kids.

I don’t know if I’m ready to parent a teenage boy. Teenage boys and I have a very short history. I dated a few of them and that is about it. They were rock-n-roll “heads” full of themselves. Skinny kids with ripped jeans and a penchant for trouble. They loved ZZ TOP and Deep Purple. They were always getting in trouble and grinning their way out of it. They drank wine coolers and beer, smoked cigarettes and barely passed classes. I am sure that one of them is now gay and the others happily married complete with kids and corporate jobs. That is my experience with teenage boys.

My husband was once a teenager. He fits the above discription fairly aptly. He tried his best to get out of the house and do what he wanted. I think he managed to break up a firehall BBQ dinner by setting a back woods shed on fire once. The biggest loss there was the collection of beer cans that he and his cronies had accumulated. My guess is that the ashtray didn’t burn out enough and the walls went ablaze. He also got his head and hand busted by getting smashed with a baseball bat during a party he decided to throw at his parent’s house while they were away. Silly man.

My 11 year old son is already eyeing our in-law quarters and planning what great parties could be held there. Ironically, this kid gets sick every time he gets remotely close to being in trouble!!! I think he knows I can smell a keg from three miles out and wouldn’t tolerate too much idiocy. He’s way too anxious to pull it off. He’s also got a lot more respect for us and his friends than to consider it seriously. I think.

My 11 year old son also has a girlfriend. She is absolutely beautiful and really cool. She’s got him “whipped already” as Andy says and Liam is really smitten. It’s been nearly 18 months since we started hearing about Alicia. She’s been to the movies with us, football games and basketball games. She did this cute thing for Valentine’s Day with hearts and XXXOOO and cool metallic pen designs on it for him.

tiki tiki tembo no sa rembo char bari ruchi pip peri pembo

google it.

It’s the honored son’s name and it means “the most wonderful thing in the whole wide world.”

I can’t believe it’s been a month since I wrote anything! Not that I haven’t thought about it.

My two older kids came home from a church function last night soaking wet. A water fight apparently took place outside the doors and both of them ended up in the middle. I haven’t seen such a satisfied, carefree expression on Erin’s face for months. It was as if all her anger dissolved in a water battle; she danced to bed.

Idyllic childhood. My husband’s childhood is not filled with laughter or craziness, magic or imagination. His parents didn’t tickle him, laugh with him or make tents under tables. He behaved. It’s hard for him to break out of that with his own kids and not get angry when they come home soaking wet from a water battle. I watched a little conflict pass through his thoughts last night before he smiled at them.

My childhood was full of imagination and stories. Warm laps and fun. I remember being dragged around the house in a blanket screaming each time I hit a table leg. I remember being high up on a tree limb, legs wrapped around a rope and just jumping out as far as possible. When the moment was right, letting go and landing in a huge mud puddle. That was joy! I am the opposite of my husband; I love the chaos and drama of wrestling children and dogs barking at them. I love mud and puddles. I really love water battles and sprinkler fights. I don’t behave enough.

When did we decide that laughter gets too loud and giggles too silly? When did we, as parents, feel the need to reign in the fun if it’s bugging us? Why can’t we go barefoot outside if it’s wet or too cold? Who cares if our clothes match when our friends are waiting for us to hurry up and come out!

Right now there are goldfish cracker crumbs in my bed and marbles under my table. There are handprints on the fridge and dirty socks in the kitchen. There’s a little booger stained boy asleep in his bed with a smile on his face cause he had fun eating those crackers in mommy’s bed.

I want to stop worrying about towing the line and start living life again to the fullest. I want my children to feel each and every ounce of the day deep inside their souls. To try something fun even if it’s messy. No one has died from going to bed dirty. Each day they watch us to see what it’s like to be a grown up. I want them to look forward to it!

We only get one chance at each day. Dragging ourselves through it and managing to collapse is no way to live. Scheduling the hell out of our families so we don’t get bored or miss something is stressful and hurried. Having dinner at 6:00 and bedtime at 8:00 every day is just crazy.

Eat pizza in your pajamas, fill the bath tub with bubbles. Read Dr. Seuss with all the voices. Stay up late if there’s a good show on. Tuck your teenager in for once. Turn up the music really, really loud. (Best if it’s Duran Duran or The Cars).

Get up in the tree and jump!

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Why “Divine Graffiti?”

I wait patiently each day to see what Divine Graffiti will appear on the walls of my life. Life has a way of imparting wisdom to us through the experiences of each day as well as smacking us over the head with insight and reminders that I must remain present. Through my writing, I learn more about myself and about what is in store for me and mine.

Quote of the Month

You'll have to stand on the side of a mountain for a long time before a roast duck flies in---ancient Cantonese Proverb

DISCLAIMER

I am not responsible for everything I write here. It is simply my mind running away with me. I tend to speak before I think and write before my fingers have had a chance to ask permission!